


On Company Time

by ninchannie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackmail, Drag Queen Bang Chan, Drag Queens, Flirting, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentioned Office Sex, Mentioned blowjob, Office Workers Minchan, minho is chans boss :3, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninchannie/pseuds/ninchannie
Summary: “Soooo,” Minho begins with a teasing quality to his voice. “I’m guessing I won’t be seeing you at today’s bar night either?”Chan feels embarrassment creep up his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he begins, keeping his eyes on the apple being flipped and turned in Minho’s hands. “You know how weekends are…”“Busy,” Minho replies simply and his smile morphs into something artificial.OrChan is a simple office worker in Minho’s department, but on the weekends he lives a different life entirely.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	On Company Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Believeinkook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Believeinkook/gifts).



> Ahhh I hope you like this!! I had so much fun imagining them as these characters so thank you so much for trusting me with your idea!!! That's such an honour <3
> 
> Have fun with this one everyone :3

Fridays are always a hassle at the office, maybe even more so for Chan, because everyone else is looking forward to the end of the week and the two days of no work ahead, while for Chan only _more_ work awaits. The energy around the department is just different, and not in the good way for him.

There’s always this special something getting his mind off of it though. Or rather a special someone.

The person just so happens to be Chan’s manager, the director of the public relations branch of one of the biggest marketing companies in the country. Lee Minho.

Chan is one of his workers, his media manager to be precise, and yet… something is going on between them that goes beyond a simple hierarchical job structure, which is a concept Minho is trying to abolish as best as he can anyway.

Still, it isn’t advised or _allowed_ to be flirting at the office, but each day with Minho around, Chan finds himself falling more and more easily into sometimes more and sometimes less subtle hints, little gazes and teasing words when they pass.

Sometimes, when he’s especially brave and no one is around, Chan does a textbook example of _oops I dropped my pencil_ , only to make Minho laugh and maybe heat his cheeks up a little.

Yeah… Chan might not be the biggest fan of 9 to 6 work, much less of the energy of it on Fridays, but Minho makes it bearable. Maybe even more than bearable when he looks like _that_ , coming towards Chan’s desk with an easy smile on his lips that makes Chan feel just a little out of his mind.

Minho – because the whole department goes on a first name basis, including the manager – has his crisp white shirt pushed up to his elbows, his tie loosened around his neck and the top button of his collar opened. Chan feels all kinds of inferior for a second, before he straightens up in his chair and drapes his chin up on his hand, elbow on the table.

They’re both good at this game.

The manager could very well be on his way to a different desk in the big room, maybe just going to the toilet or grabbing his sixth cup of coffee – Chan wouldn’t count if Minho wouldn’t stop by anytime – but his steps are secure and lead him directly to his worker’s cubicle.

He stops with a nod at Chan, his smile never leaving, and leans against the side of Chan’s desk with pure confidence in all of his moves. Only now Chan realizes his boss is carrying a bright red apple in his hands, playing around with it as he eyes Chan.

“ _Soooo_ ,” Minho begins with a teasing liquidity to his voice. “I’m guessing I won’t be seeing you at today’s bar night either?”

Chan’s skin crawls a little with embarrassment even though by now he should be used to the question. Bar night is something Minho had established a few months prior. Twice a month, all of the department’s members are free to tag along to a different bar on Friday night, and every time Chan denies the request.

He has plans on the weekends. Yes, on every single one.

Minho should be used to him rejecting the offer too, but just like Chan, he looks almost uncomfortable when Chan replies.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, keeping his eyes on the apple being flipped and turned in Minho’s hands. “You know how weekends are…”

Sighing, the manager throws the apple into the air and the movement makes Chan’s gaze land on his lips right as he mouths his reply. “Busy,” Minho says and his smile morphs into something artificial. “No worries, Chan, I totally get you don’t want to deepen your relationship with me and your colleagues.”

He laughs right after and Chan chimes in just to play along, but he can feel the truth of the words prickle down his spine. He’s almost sure the only reason Minho and he didn’t _deepen_ their relationship yet are workplace boundaries and Chan’s repeated denial of meeting up outside of them. But he can’t help it.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of my colleagues willing to deepen their bond with our precious manager,” Chan jokes and Minho rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, bringing a hand to his forehead like the drama queen Chan knows the other is.

“Precious? You’re too kind,” Minho gasps, before collecting his act and standing up from Chan’s desk. He throws the apple up once more before catching it with one hand and placing it down next to Chan’s keyboard. “I’m telling you though, today’s place seems very interesting. A recommendation from Linda…”

Chan’s eyes flick over to Linda’s desk for a split second, his colleague immersed in whatever task she’s working on. When he looks back to Minho, he snatches the apple and begins playing with it in the same way his manager did.

“Make sure to tell me about it on Monday, will you?”

Minho smiles and turns away, his fingers lingering on Chan’s desk. When he looks back his gaze is intense, but not nearly as playful as before. “I’ll make sure of it, but not on company time.”

With that, he leaves, and Chan is left with a red apple and a clenching heart. Another pain added to the trot of Friday he already hates so much.

The thing is that he doesn’t _not_ look forward to the weekends, much the opposite, really. Quite honestly, Chan _loves_ them. But the few hours before they truly start for him, right after he gets out of work on Friday, feel like a race against three different timelines he has to fight at full force to win.

He gets out at six, sometimes even half an hour late on those occasion that Minho tries to convince him even more passionately to tag along to the bar night. Afterwards, Chan has to speed through the city on the smallest sideroads he can find to avoid traffic, and then he has about three minutes to grab a snack from the corner store just around his apartment before he jumps into the shower to wash the staleness of corporate normality of his skin.

Only when he steps out of the water and dries himself off do the tongues of an incredible weekend ahead start to lick and tear at his body until he can do nothing but grab his necessities and skip out of his apartment again, walking the few blocks to where he spends all night on Fridays and Saturdays.

All pressure having accumulated over the last weekday evaporate as soon as he steps through the creaky backdoor of the Cockpit – his resident club – and is met with music, erratic lights and voices, voices, _voices_. Messy, loud, annoying and all he craves when he sits at his desk and waits for the hours to pass during the day.

“ _Hey girl_ ,” Fefe yells at him when she spots Chan walking in, a giant wig sitting askew on her head. “Help me glue this bitch down, she does _not_ want to be tamed today.”

Chan takes a deep breath and feels glitter, fog, and smoke coat his lungs. He can’t wait to get the weekend started.

♛

The air on stage never ceases to make Chan forget all about his everyday worries. Maybe because he’s not _Chan_ here. Nowhere close to him.

Chanel is big, blonde waves cascading down to padded hips. She’s glittering dresses revealing gemstone bras that barely hold in her breasts. She’s 8 inches taller than the boring black and white media manager, with heels sharp enough to puncture men’s hearts left and right. She’s gold and glitz and glam and everything Chan is too shy, too scared, too ordinary for from Monday to Friday.

Never does she let him into the club. It’s her home, her sphere, her bubble. It’s where she excels and ignores mundanity because for Chanel such things don’t exist. She can truly live here, meet people that think like her and that adore her, kiss the very floor she steps on. There’s no place for-

Minho.

Chanel trips for the first time in years and it’s only perfectly trained performance skills that make her cover it up automatically by twirling on the tip of her platform heels, making gems fly around her from her glamorous dress.

She spreads long fingers and walks down the catwalk parting the middle of the floor and it feels like she’s truly lip-syncing for her life, her heart hammering enough to make the music feel muted as if she’s underwater.

She reaches the chair at the front of the stage and drapes herself over it. With her legs suspended in the air, she chances another look in the direction that made her lose composure earlier, but whatever phantom of the manager she saw is gone, and she ends the performance like she would any other. With grace and perfection.

Leaving the stage to make place for the performers feels just as numb as the music did in her ears but Chanel wakes herself up by biting down on a half-molten ice cube she fishes from a glass she finds in the backroom.

She has never been happy for the last performance to be done, but right now she feels _ready_ for it. Ready to take the floor and drink until she can’t remember the scare. To talk to strangers until she’ll be filled with nothing but the thrill of attention and admiration.

As if on cue, Fefe comes stumbling into the room as Chanel powders her face, twirling a cocktail in her bedazzled fingers.

“You look great, we get it Miss Eleganza,” she says with a click of her tongue and Chanel makes a face at her in the mirror. “I found a guy for you, lovely man, just your type, so if your cute ass could get _out_ there anytime soon that would be great. I promised him a taste of our finest.”

“Oh so you’re handing me out like cheap whiskey now?” Chanel asks with a smile as she twirls around, pearls twinkling all around her. “He’ll better be half as good as you make him up to be and I’ll be set.”

Fefe looks more than a little upset when they both leave. “You’re questioning my taste? I can’t believe this slander.”

“Oh sorry Miss Thing, after the last three _months_ worth of crappy guys sent my way I lost my trust in you just a little, how scandalous of me.” Chan kicks her hips into Fefe’s, making her spill her drink a little but the other queen just fires back a kick of her own before linking their arms.

“It’s because of your picky cunt, darling.” She moves in closer to Chanel when they walk into the floor area of the club and the music gets louder. “I’m sure you’ll thank me later, and your cunny will too.”

With that, she downs the remains of her drink and slams the glass down on the bar as they pass, strutting into the direction of the promised goldmine of a man and leaving Chanel nothing but to tag behind, swallowing the strange feeling in her gut that arose out of nowhere.

The face she has seen from the stage couldn’t have possibly belonged to Minho. It must’ve been the lights blinding her and making a random guy with sharp lines and intense eyes mirror her manager. No, not even _her_ manager. Chan’s manager. And there’s no place for Chan in this club.

Chanel links her fingers with Fefe’s to keep her close as they make their way to the leather seats adorning a corner of the room, for visitors to take breaks of dancing and to start flirting and get more familiar.

The lights are dimmer here and only a purple hue shines upon the group of six or seven people that Fefe is steering at. Chanel feels dread fill her insides before her brain even gets behind who they are, styled hair and risky clothing disguising people Chan knows only in suits and business chic.

There are the faces of Linda and Jeongin and they don’t _belong_ here, but they’re laughing and sipping on tall glasses, leaning closer to someone who has their back to the arriving queens. Broad shoulders are pulling the fabric of a black shirt thin and Chanel knows she’s doomed before she’s even close enough to see his face, yet too close to run away.

Linda spots Fefe and waves exaggeratedly, and with the other queen’s arrival, Chanel’s fate is settled as Minho turns around.

His gaze is heavy when it lands on Chanel, and for a second the queen forgets she’s wearing a wig reaching to the heavens and a face of makeup worth more than her last week’s salary. She’s sure there’s a short glint of recognition in Minho’s eyes before he’s distracted by Fefe introducing the newly arrived as _the gem of the club, no of the_ _city_! _Chanel_!

The club never felt so dull and numb before and Chanel has to bite down on her tongue to kickstart herself into moving. She lets Fefe pull her down between herself and Linda and sends her a smile when she nods at Chan’s boss with a raise of brows. Truly, Fefe didn’t lie when she told Chanel she got a good one for her, but oh if she only knew.

Linda’s voice from her side gets Chanel’s mind off of it.

“So, _Chanel_ … where does that name come from?” She asks, and the queen’s blood freezes in her veins. She turns her head towards the other and for what tiny spark of recognition was visible in Minho’s eyes earlier, Linda’s expression is filled with it.

Before Chanel can stammer out a reply – or faint for all she knows – Fefe bends over her with a fake laugh. “Oh sweetie, you don’t ask a queen for her name unless she tells you to!”

Linda chimes into her laughter and only because Chanel has seen the same faux amusement of it so many times at work does she know it’s not real. Clearing her throat, she hopes her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels, but if the worried glance Fefe is sending her when she pulls back is any indication, she doesn’t feel all that hopeful.

But Fefe is a good friend and an even better entertainer.

“So!” She exclaims, clapping her hands twice and sending a wave of blinking lashes at Minho. “How about a round for everyone?”

Minho laughs at the blatant confidence of it but turns to the bar to raise two fingers at one of the servers.

“Champagne?” He asks and the whole table cheers.

♛

In the years Chanel has spent at the Cockpit, she never left before closing unless she was going home with someone. But as soon as the group of office workers leaves around three in the morning, she excuses herself from Fefe and flees to the backroom, taking off her wig carelessly and rubbing at her face wildly.

Layer for layer she peels away, Chanel leaves and Chan comes back, puffy lips and red cheeks from the way he’s rushing to get the makeup off, the only thing on his mind going home and falling into bed for what he hopes will be peaceful sleep.

He doesn’t even know what it is that is making him feel so uneasy. The club is obviously a venue for anything LGBTQ+ and if Minho agreed to go there, he must’ve done so willingly. Besides that, all of Chan’s colleagues looked like they had the time of their lives with Fefe and Chanel around.

And yet… with a few hastily spoken words of assurance to the other queen, he rushes out of the side door with heaviness settling in his guts and a feeling of foreboding tickling the hair at his nape. He just turns the corner to the street hastily – relieved to see the street mostly empty – when a familiar voice makes him stop at once and nearly stumble over his own feet.

“Not quite as glamorous like this, are we?”

Linda’s voice is sickly sweet, her face overtaken with satisfaction when Chan’s eyes pick her out in the darkness, leaning against the wall of the neighbouring building. She pushes herself off of it in what seems to be slow-motion while Chan’s heart hammers in his chest, his palms clammy.

“You know I’ve been wondering for a while why your nails always look so cracked at work… makes sense when you put cheap stick-on nails on them every weekend.” She laughs at her own words and Chan wishes the situation wouldn’t be so precarious, wishes he could tell her those cheap nails are worth more than her entire outfit.

Instead he begins to stammer. “H-how did you-“

“Find you?” Linda interrupts with a smile of pure pride that makes something sour rise up Chan’s throat. “I had a night out with friends a few weeks ago and we didn’t go home till the morning. I went past here and who do I see stumble out of this alley? You can guess… I checked this _establishment_ out the week after and sure enough you’re up on stage, nearly unrecognizable, but I guess I’m a little too smart for those flashy looks to deceive me.”

Chanel is not a flashy queen in any sense of the word, and usually Chan would fight his ground to the last breath to counter such audacity but he’s much too petrified to fight back.

“What does it concern you what I do here?” He asks, but even those words come out weak.

Linda sighs deeply. “You know I’ve noticed your little _thing_ going on with our _manager_. We’ve all been noticing it,” she says with a belittling tone to her voice. “And we also know that’s the only reason you got the position you’re in now.”

Chan sucks in a breath of air. It’s not true, not even _close_ to it. He got the position before Minho even took over the PR department, before they ever met for the first time. He had it before Linda began working at the company.

But he can’t voice any of it. “What does that have to do with-“

“ _What_ do you think will happen if word gets out that Minho’s prized media manager is a crossdressing perv on the weekends? He might have enjoyed your little show today but knowing our company… you’d be lucky if they just fire you and not send lawyers after your padded ass.”

Chan’s blood freezes. He remembers stories of people that came before him. _Scandals_ of sex and relationships leading to lawsuits for defamation, and of course it’s the company that won every single time. They have the money for it if they so need to.

He gulps down a wave of nausea. “What do you want from me?”

Linda acts pensive for a few beats in which Chan’s fingers turn numb. “First off, stop flirting with Minho.” She leans in closer to Chan then. “He’s too good for you anyway.”

Nodding, Chan sucks in the perfumed air wafting from his colleague. “O-okay, what else?”

“I want your position.” The statement comes quickly, and Chan should’ve probably seen it coming. “On Monday you will tell your sweetheart that you don’t feel like you’re made out for the job, but that your good friend Linda would be _happy_ to take over. Else… I guess I’ll just have to send out a letter to Minho about what promiscuous things you get up to…”

♛

Mondays are Chan’s days to bring coffee for Minho and himself. It has been a weird schedule developing in their back and forth of workplace flirting. He’d get the orders on Mondays and Minho on Wednesdays. Every time from their respective favourite coffee places.

On the Monday after the weekend Linda unloaded her grand scheme on Chan, he doesn’t bring coffee and he ignores Minho when he passes his table. Three times. Chan can feel his heart shrivel when he catches a glance of his manager’s confused expression, hurt clearly visible in his eyes when they flick over Chan.

During lunch, he doesn’t go to the company’s canteen, but instead decides to grab a snack from the vending machine on the PR department’s floor. Of course the one time he chooses to do so he doesn’t have spare change with him, and because fate apparently hates Chan, Minho walks around the corner right as he pounds his head against the machine in frustration.

“Here, let me-“ Minho says, fumbling for his wallet and bringing forth a few coins, holding his hand out to Chan. The other looks from Minho’s palm to his face a few times, nearly ready to accept the money when he remembers Linda’s threat.

He shakes his head. “Lost my appetite.” With that he turns around and walks back to his desk.

He works through his lunchbreak and doesn’t even dare to grab himself a cup of coffee.

There’s only half an hour left before Chan can go home for the day, when Jeongin walks up to his desk, fiddling with his fingers and completely pale in the face. “M-Minho wants to speak you,” he stutters. “Now. He seemed very, very mad.”

With a sting in his chest, Chan rises to his feet, his eyes immediately falling to Linda’s desk to find it deserted, not even her _employee of the month_ mug waiting for her. Chan’s fingers are drumming against his pants and he wipes his sweaty palms on the fabric before thanking Jeongin and making his way to Minho’s office.

When he reaches the door, he debates if he should just turn around and get himself fired that way but before he can do so the door opens, and Minho nearly falls into Chan. The manager looks confused for a second but catches himself when he recognizes the other and his whole face lights up.

“Oh, there you are,” he exclaims with a smile. “I was about to get you myself. Please come in.”

Perplexed, Chan lets himself be ushered into the office, his mouth opening and closing a few times when Minho closes the door and walks right up to him.

“ _So_ ,” the manager begins, wriggling his brows at Chan and only confusing him more. “I’m thinking of making the Cockpit our resident bar, would that be okay with you?”

Chan gasps and chokes on his spit, needing a few seconds and even some claps on his back from Minho to calm down. “E-excuse me?” He grits out as soon as he can breathe again, his eyes teary and wide.

“I really enjoyed it, but I wanted to run the idea by you first, since it’s _your_ lair.” Minho’s hand is still resting on Chan’s back, ever so slowly lowering until it dips in around his waist and Chan forgets how to breathe for a second.

“I-I… you- what?” He stammers, feeling breathless for about a dozen reasons.

Pulling back, Minho clears his throat and awkwardly scratches the side of his neck before speaking. “You see, Linda came in earlier with a long letter that she read out to me. I don’t know why she is out to get you, but she came to the wrong person to do so. She told me about you… about Chanel, and she said many rude things I don’t agree with, so I let her go. But you kept ignoring me today, so I thought I should take matters into my own hands.”

Chan’s fingers are shaking, and he looks down at them, trying to collect his thoughts. “She told you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Minho. “And you’re not angry? You’re not firing me?”

Minho’s hand reaches out for his and Chan watches as smaller fingers intertwine with his trembling ones. “I am not going to police what you do outside of company time.” Minho’s free hand pushes Chan’s chin up. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not even good at policing what you _do_ on company time. Instead I actually keep playing into it.”

With eyes tracing over Minho’s face, Chan’s gaze ultimately lands on the sharp bow of his upper lip. “I’m glad you do,” he whispers, and all on its own, his body gravitates closer to Minho’s. The other follows his pull until there are mere centimetres between them.

“So the Cockpit… resident bar… is that okay?” Minho asks with a smirk, his thumb tracing Chan’s jawline and making him shudder.

Chan smiles back at him. “I can’t police what you do outside of company time, right?” He jokes and a breath of relief leaves him when Minho drops his hand and pulls him in with a determined grip on his waist.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and the last word is barely out when Chan already nods.

Their lips are about to touch when Chan pulls back a little. “Is it bad that I kind of wish Linda was here to see this?”

Chuckling, Minho pulls him forward so their bodies are pressed together tightly. “She’s already close enough to report us to the higher-ups, so yes, that is bad,” the manager replies. “But I’d love to see it too.”

With that, Chan lets himself be pulled in completely and their lips finally connect.

They don’t let go, even when it strikes six and the sound of shuffling outside of the door signals the departure of everyone in the office. They don’t stop when Chan’s fingers bury themselves in Minho’s hair and cracked nails press into his scalp, and they don’t stop when Chan cums in his pants, his manager’s fingers stuffed into his mouth and his sinful lips sucking marks into his neck.

Not even five days later, when Fefe gapes at Chanel for inviting Minho backstage to formally introduce the two, do they stop. And if it ends with Minho’s cum all over Chanel’s wig and red lipstick all over his cock, that’s their business only.

It’s long outside of company time after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving kudos and comments, especially the latter make my entire dayyyy (even if it might take me a while to respond) :3
> 
> My twt/CC: ninchannie


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